


won't feel so alone

by StarAmongStones



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Fluff, Future Fic, M/M, but he learns to be, derek is not a cat person
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-11
Updated: 2014-04-11
Packaged: 2018-01-18 22:59:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,818
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1445986
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StarAmongStones/pseuds/StarAmongStones
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles gives Derek a cat. It doesn't go well until it does.</p>
            </blockquote>





	won't feel so alone

“Surprise!” Stiles says gleefully, waving a very disgruntled cat in front of his face, “I brought you a cat.”

Derek eyes the cat suspiciously. “It’s broken.” And it is broken. A jagged scar runs down the right side of its face where an eye used to be, and it has mange. Literal mange. Derek can smell it.

The cat harrumphs as Stiles cradles the cat to his chest, finally making eye contact enough to glare at Derek.

“ _She_ ,” Stiles stresses the pronoun, “just needs a little extra love is all. Now, let us in.”

“No,” Derek petulantly folds his arms over his chest to further block the doorway.

Both the cat and Stiles look unimpressed, share a look, and then Stiles crouches to toss the thing into the apartment behind Derek’s leg. He then stands and makes a shooing motion. “Come on, let’s get inside before the cat runs off.”

Wondering where he went wrong, Derek eventually backs against the door to let Stiles squeeze in past him.

“So, I have kitty litter and food in my car already. I just need-“ he trails off, glancing around the room, “a place to put the box.”

“It’s not staying with me,” Derek says, mostly to the cat, who is engaging him in some sort of staring contest which he will absolutely not lose.

“Sure she is," Stiles says dismissively. "You love cats. Tell me you can say no to that face,”

Derek actually hates cats. Ever since one peed on him in elementary school, he’s avoided cats at all cost. Kittens are alright sometimes, he supposes, but cats. Not really his thing.

When he tells Stiles as much, in much less detail, Stiles finally turns back to look at him – and makes him break first, dammit – confusion written all over his face. “No, you love cats.”

Derek raises his eyebrows until Stiles explains, “You laughed at that cat video I showed Scott. I saw you. Teeth were shown, air was exhaled in a forceful manner.”

It takes Derek a moment to even place what Stiles is talking about, but then he remembers the day a few weeks ago that Stiles came over to Derek’s apartment and announced that no one could possibly live in this century without wi-fi. Stiles spent four hours hooking up cables, calling help lines, and generally complaining about how he was majoring in history, not engineering, _Jesus_. When he was finally able to get internet access, he punched Derek in the arm in celebration, and told Scott to come over with food. Stiles claimed it was the official house-warming, since Derek now had the trappings of a real adult.

“Cora is the one who loves cat videos. But she also hates cats in real life.”

Stiles blinks. “That is really weird.” Then, “Wait, so you really don’t like cats? This isn’t some elaborate lie to preserve your masculinity or whatever?”

When he only gets a blank look in return, Stiles’ eyes widen pleadingly. “Okay, but the thing is that we both know this cat is never going to get adopted.” They both turn to look at the scrawny tabby currently hacking up a fur ball on the couch. “And she has a few health issues so throwing her back on the street would be a death sentence and Scott and I can’t keep her because the dorms don’t allow pets. Just don’t be an asshole about this, okay? This kitten has literally nowhere else to go.” He picks the thing up and shakes it in Derek’s face for emphasis, unaware that it’s actually having the opposite of the desired effect on him.

Still, when he looks up and catches Stiles’ expression – full of things like _hope_ and _faith_ in Derek’s decency – he says, “You’re buying everything from here on out.”

“Sure thing, compadre,” Stiles beams.

Stiles makes a few trips down to his car because Derek refuses to help, even taking a sick sort of pleasure that he decided on an apartment on the fifth floor. In a building with a broken elevator. Stiles is satisfyingly out of breath after his fifth and final trip.

“Oh you are just so smug,” Stiles glares as he rips open a bag of kitty litter a little more viciously than is called for. “But you know what? It’s not going to phase me because I now own a cat.”

Derek sighs.

“Don’t act like you’re not going to fall completely head over heels for little missy over there by the end of the night,” he nods towards the couch, where the cat has taken up residence on the cushion closest to Stiles. Derek hates that he let Stiles talk him into suede in the first place. Now he’ll never get the cat hair out. “And speaking of that cutie, you should name her.”

“No.”

“But she’s yours.” Stiles shakes some of the litter into a tan tray he’s already set up in the far corner of the room. “Sort of.”

“You literally just said, ‘I own a hell beast now.’ You’ve clearly assumed all ownership in your mind already.”

Stiles shrugs. “So we’ll have joint custody. People do it all the time.”

“She’s not my cat,” Derek tries again.

“Yeah, keep telling yourself that. I’ll be back next weekend. Bond. Name her. And wash her with the shampoo on the end table every night to get rid of the mange. Have fun!” Stiles gives the cat one last scratch under her chin, waves at Derek from the door, and slips out.

Derek looks around his apartment at a loss because he kind of has no idea what the hell just happened. His eyes finally come to rest on the cat, clearly the source of all his problems, and he barks out, “Move.”

The cat just blinks up at him for a moment before snuggling back into the cushion.

Out of sheer frustration, Derek growls out a warning low in his throat.

The fucking thing just hisses at him.

Derek eventually shuts himself in his room because he’s tired, and not at all because he was chased out of his own living room by a tiny kitten.

 

The week is tense. The cat keeps eying Derek like his entire existence personally insults it. After the third night of trying everything in his power to get the cat to let him sit on his own goddamn couch, he tries leveling with it.

“Look, I don’t like this any more than you do, but we’re apparently stuck with each other so just get over it.”

The cat looks as unimpressed as always, but it at least lets him sit down – on the arm – with minimal fuss. It’s a start.

They actually work their way up to Derek getting his own cushion with little more than a death glare by the time Stiles barges in on Friday night.

“Hey, sorry it’s so late. Dad has this crazy urge to actually see me when I’m in town. What a kook,” Stiles says as he locks the door behind him and tosses his backpack in a corner.

“Where did you get a key?”

“So I see you haven’t killed each other,” Stiles says instead of answering. Whatever. Derek’s pretty sure he doesn’t want to know. Stiles scoops the cat up into his lap when he plops onto the couch and asks, “What did you name her?”

“Margery.”

Stiles’ eyes light up. “As in Tyrell?”

At Derek’s blank stare, Stiles groans. “You're hopeless.” After a beat, he asks, “Come on, spill. Why Margery?”

“She was the guidance counselor when I was in high school. She hated her life almost as much as she hated me.”

“Wait, are you talking about Miss Jones? Oh my god, she really did hate everything, didn’t she? I lucked out with Mr. Martin.”

Derek shakes his head, amazed that she had kept her job long enough to see Stiles through high school as well.

“So you’re naming her after the only other woman who didn’t swoon at your charm?”

“I feel like you have a very inflated sense of me.”

“Nah, with that face and that tragic past? Nobody else would stand a chance if you decided to really go for someone.”

Derek feels the back of his neck heat, which is ridiculous. He tells his body to get a grip.

“Hey, I think Marge is kind of tired,” Stiles says after a few minutes, when her purrs taper off into deep breaths. “Where does she usually sleep?”

Derek shrugs. “Here? I don’t know.”

“You’re so useless,” Stiles huffs. “Did you really not buy her a bed?”

“Have you already forgotten our deal where you buy her everything?”

“I thought we both knew that was a lie! I’m a broke college kid, man. My dad has to give me allowance to buy gas to come home.”

“Well, then what the hell were you thinking, adopting a cat?” Derek asks, incredulous.

“She was for you!” Stiles cries. When Marge stirs a little, Stiles sighs and strokes her gently to apologize for waking her. “I didn’t know you hated cats. And, you know, I don’t know. We do nice stuff for each other now apparently.”

Derek is pretty sure Stiles is referring to Derek helping him and Scott move into their dorm, but he kind of only did that because the Sheriff was on duty during move-in hours and he’d asked Derek to stand in for him. He doesn’t see why that deserves thanks or reward. Plus, they’re not the sort of people to thank each other; it’s just kind of expected the other will lend a hand when necessary.

The whole situation is new and weird, so Derek ignores it completely. Instead, he sighs, “I’ll buy her a bed tomorrow morning.”

Stiles’ bright grin is worth it.

 

When Stiles comes over the next Friday, it’s well past ten.

“Fridays are our thing,” Stiles explains. “I can’t have her thinking I forgot about her.”

“She’s a cat. She has no concept of time.”

“Well, still.”

“Clever.”

Stiles rolls his eyes. “Whatever, man. I’m too tired to banter. Do you mind if I just crash in Cora’s bed?”

It hits Derek that the bed isn’t Cora’s anymore, not really. She hasn’t used it since she went back to South America. They still talk, still call and e-mail when they can, but it’s not really the same thing.

He pointedly does _not_ think about how the apartment feels a little less lonely with Margery around.

 

Fridays roll into Saturdays more often than not as the months pass. Stiles crashes in Cora’s bed (with Marge because it's not like she has a cat bed of her own or anything) and lazes around on the couch watching movies all day because he and Scott never bought a TV of their own.

“Don’t you have homework or something?” Derek asks about half-way through a truly horrendous movie about giant, cold-resistant spiders. It’s mostly for show – he secretly enjoys awful movies – but he’s also kind of confused.

Stiles snorts. “That’s what Sunday nights are for. Come on.”

“Then why do you always bring your backpack with you?” Derek nods towards the corner of the room where Stiles drops the bag every week, leaving it untouched until he picks it up again on his way out.

Stiles looks at him like incredulously. “I can’t just leave it in my car, Derek. That’s asking for theft.”

Derek shakes his head, giving up. “I’m going to the store.”

“You should buy tapioca. I have had the weirdest craving all week.”

“Buy your own tapioca.”

Stiles sticks his tongue out at him as he slips out the door.

Of course he buys the tapioca, but it’s not until he gets back to his apartment that he realizes just how gone he is. He opens the door to find Stiles is probably the least comfortable position he’s ever seen a human achieve – his head is hanging low to the ground, mouth gaped open; an elbow is resting on the coffee table, and his other arm is wrapped gently around Marge, curled up contentedly on Stiles’ stomach.

In that moment, he realizes he _wants_. He wants everything.

 _Oh_ , he thinks. _That makes sense_. And then he’s putting away his groceries.

 

About six months into their cohabitation, Derek wakes up to a dead mouse and an expectant-looking cat at the foot of his bed. He blinks heavily and tries very hard not to be touched by the implications.

“You know Stiles is actually the one who likes you, right? Go bring him dead animals.” It’s not entirely true anymore, but it’s easier to fall into the comfortable indifference they’ve felt for one another so far.

Marge noses the mouse forward until Derek picks it up and runs a hand gently down her back in thanks.

After he walks outside to the dumpster to get rid of the mouse and changes the comforter, he gets right back in bed because it’s six in the morning on a Sunday and the world does not need him yet. Marge saunters over to curl up on his chest.

“Does this mean you like me now?” Derek asks quietly. Her purrs lull him back to sleep.

 

“Stiles,” Derek calls from the kitchen a few months later. “Come get Marge.”

Marge, currently, is being a pain in the ass. She keeps jumping up on the kitchen island where Derek’s mixing the cake batter for Scott’s birthday cake. Apparently Stiles’ definition of _handling it, guys_ , was to just get Derek to do it.

“Oh, no you don’t,” Derek hoists Marge up and away from where she’s trying to sneak a lick of the butter. He cradles her to his chest while they wait for Stiles, and she takes the opportunity to lick some batter from his forearm. He rolls his eyes fondly, smiling as he watches her very thorough work.

He looks up after a few moments to shout into the living room about taking too long, but finds Stiles smiling softly at him from the doorway.

“Go out with me.”

“What?” Startled, Derek drops Marge onto the island. She’s unhappy with the treatment for about three seconds, until she figures out she can finally lap up the cake batter unimpeded.

Stiles shrugs, clearly trying to act nonchalant. “I like you, and I figured I’d go the direct route this time. Long-term wooing didn’t work out for me the last time I tried it.”

Derek absently nods in agreement, feeling lost.

“I’m going to kiss you now,” Stiles takes a step forward. When Derek doesn’t step away, he makes quick work of the distance between them, and crashes their lips together in an honestly rather painful kiss.

“Sorry,” Stiles pulls back sheepishly. “I don’t exactly have much practice being the initiator.”

“You’re doing just fine,” Derek murmurs, pulling Stiles back in for a gentler, but no less fervent, kiss.

“Shit, man,” Stiles huffs when they finally break apart for air.

“Mmmhmm,” Derek hums agreeably, mouthing along the underside of Stiles’ jaw.

When Derek bites teasingly at his earlobe, Stiles says unsteadily, “You should let me blow you.”

Derek groans.

“I take that as a yes?” Stiles asks, sliding to his knees. Well, he drops like a stone. Graceful, Stiles is not.

“Yes, whatever you want,” Derek nods. He steps back a few inches so that he can lean against the counter opposite the island, grip the edge. Stiles follows easily, and then Derek’s pants and boxer briefs are down around his ankles.

After a moment of absolutely no further action, Derek asks, “You okay?”

“Yeah,” Stiles waves him off. He tilts his head, and says, “I’m just thinking of the best possible way to go about this.”

“I think it’s pretty obvious,” Derek says, amused.

“You are such a dick. Just for that I’m not going to give you any warning. I’m just going to hop on whenever I feel like it. Could be right after this sentence, or it could be five minutes from now. Who knows?”

“As long as it’s this-“ Derek cuts off with a shaky exhale when Stiles grips Derek’s cock and takes him in his mouth until he hits the back of Stiles’ throat.

Derek has to look away after a few bobs because Stiles is making eye contact and doing this thing with his tongue and Derek will not last if he keeps watching. Unfortunately, when he finally jerks his eyes upward, he immediately makes eye contact with Marge. He feels judged.

“Okay, bed,” Derek tugs a very unwilling Stiles up by his arms. “Bed. Now.”

“What-“ Stiles trails off when he follows Derek’s line of sight – he’s now locked in some weird sort of staring contest with Marge that he feels compelled to continue. Stiles laughs. “Dude.”

“I don’t care. I can’t come while she’s watching me.”

Stiles laughs all the way to the bedroom.

**Author's Note:**

> Un-beta'd, so all mistakes are mine. 
> 
> I had this whole idea that Stiles doesn't actually like cats, and Marge was a ruse to spend more time with Derek because he always declines invitations to hang out. He figures out that what he's doing is not normal friendship behavior a couple of weeks before he asks Derek out. He figures it's finally time to just bite the bullet when he starts to get jealous of a cat. But I didn't know how to fit that in (one day I will write more than snapshots, I swear) so you're left with an afterwords headcanon.


End file.
